


Uncertain Intentions

by Elissa_Alenko



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-02
Updated: 2013-05-02
Packaged: 2017-12-10 04:10:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/781611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elissa_Alenko/pseuds/Elissa_Alenko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sebasian Vael was a man torn- between duty and vengeance, between Kirkwall and Starkhaven, between the Chantry and his throne, and especially between his vows and a certain apostate. If ever there was a test of his faith, it was Marian Hawke. She was trouble. Sebastian knew this; but he couldn’t say away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Uncertain Intentions

**Author's Note:**

> I've always been fascinated with the "dark side" of the fluffy characters- Alistair, Kaidan, and especially Sebastian. I decided to explore that, and I was really pleased with the result.  
> Thank you so much to my betas, zetobichan and flockofflamingos, you guys really are the best!

          Sebastian Vael was a man torn. He had been since the news of his family’s slaughter, really. Ever since he had returned to the Chantry, he had wanted to do the honorable thing, and that had always meant staying true to his vows. But then Starkhaven’s royal family had been brutally wiped out, leaving him the one true heir. Was it not his duty to avenge them and assume the throne?

          Grand Cleric Elthina had done her best to steer him down the Maker’s path, encouraging him to leave the past behind him and stay with the Chantry, but he couldn’t let it go. His thirst for revenge consumed him, and as if by some cruel trick of fate, this led him to meet Marian Hawke. If ever there was a test of his faith, it was that woman. Piercing blue eyes, porcelain skin, curves that drew his gaze to the most improper places. Her beauty was unmatched in Kirkwall, that was certain; as was her reputation. She was a mage, an apostate, and a radical one at that. Everywhere she went, she seemed to bend the rules to her will. Having a Templar for a brother and the Guard Captain in her pocket suited her quite nicely, indeed.

          Sebastian knew Hawke was bad news. Maker’s breath, that was abundantly clear. But he had pledged his bow to her when she helped him avenge his family, and he was a man of his word. So he helped her when she asked, keeping a comfortable distance otherwise. Her adventures were certainly interesting, and he had grown fond of Varric and Aveline. But Hawke… Hawke was trouble. Sebastian knew this, but he couldn’t stay away.

          As a Chantry brother, he had taken a vow of chastity. It was a vow he took seriously, and until he met Hawke, he hadn’t regretted it. But now… too many nights he lay awake, the curve of her hips and the swell of her breasts uncomfortably vivid in his mind. He knew she was no maid; her relationship with that repugnant mage, Anders, was no secret from anyone, and a popular subject of Varric and Isabela’s jests. But he wondered. Anders was no doubt in love with her, with his glistening eyes and pouty lips and the way he hung on her every word as if she were Andraste Herself. But Hawke regarded the man with no more kindness or tenderness than she gave any of her other companions, and certainly showed no outward signs of affection. Perhaps Isabela and Hawke shared views on intimacy, at least where Anders was concerned. Hawke had certainly shown interest in Sebastian, at least he thought so. Over the years she had tossed around half-hearted offers to warm his bed, but he had always politely declined.

          But night after night, as visions of that deplorable woman haunted him, he realized that he had never felt this way before. Half the time he couldn’t stand her, but she was endlessly fascinating. People of all sorts were drawn to her, for she radiated an aura of confidence and mystery that few others could rival. She was a frustrating enigma, one Sebastian spent much time trying to unravel. He found himself frequently angry at her, disappointed in her choices and her disrespect for the Chantry. But he also cared deeply for her, did his best to keep her out of harm’s way, desperately wanted to be close to be her all the time. She was beautiful, smart, strong… but also brutal, dishonest, selfish. She made no secret of her indiscretions with not only Anders, but Isabela, and even on occasion elven prostitutes at the Blooming Rose. Surely if he were to fall in love, it should be with someone more… virtuous? And yet… try as he might, Marian Hawke refused to leave his mind.

           When she was named Champion, now doubtless one of the most powerful people in Kirkwall, Sebastian began to wonder if that were his opportunity at last. There was talk of naming her Viscountess, and if, no, _when_ he reclaimed Starkhaven, surely the power-hungry Hawke would jump at the chance of a political union.

          It was under this premise that he decided to call upon her at her estate one evening. He was lucky enough to find her at home, though she appeared to be on her way out, Anders on her arm. “Sebastian,” she said, a bemused smirk set into her beautiful features, “what a surprise.”

          “I hope I haven’t disturbed you, Hawke, but I was hoping that we could speak for a moment.” He cleared his throat, casting a pointed look at Anders. “Alone.”

          “Actually, we were-” Anders began, his tone rife with hostility.

          Hawke waved her hand dismissively, silencing the blond mage instantly. “It’s no trouble. Please, take a seat in the library. Anders, you go on ahead; tell Varric I’ll be along soon.”

          Sebastian nodded, flashing a triumphant grin at the other man as he swept through the doorway. He heard Anders start to argue but didn’t linger to hear the words, closing the great wooden doors to the library behind him. Presently Marian entered the room, the same entertained smile as before set into her mouth.

          “And what can a lowly apostate do for the Prince of Starkhaven?” she asked, pouring two glasses of wine from the carafe on the end table. She sauntered toward him, handing him one of the glasses as she took a sip from her own.

          “You, my dear Hawke, are many things. But lowly? Not in any sense of the word.” He looked up at her, his heart pounding in his ears as he tried to prepare his proposition. “Not many apostates can boast of an estate in Hightown, riches to spare, owed favors from the Guard Captain and the Knight-Commander-”

          “Yes, yes…”

          “Don’t they call you Champion and sing your praises from Darktown to Sundermount?”

          She took another sip. “Did you drive poor Anders from his home just to flatter me, Sebastian?”

          “His… his home? He lives… _here_?” he asked, unable to mask his disgust.

          “He still has his clinic in Lowtown, but yes, his nights are spent warming my bed. They have been for quite some time.” She sighed, making a face he couldn’t decipher. “Years, now…” She leaned in close, whispering in his ear. “Does that bother you?”

          It did. Quite a bit. He had known they were lovers, but this… He swallowed. It certainly complicated things. “I hadn’t heard.”

          “Why are you here, Sebastian?” she asked flatly, sitting on the edge of his chair.

          “I consider us… friends,” he began, unsure if it were really true. He heard her scoff, but continued on. “I have a great deal of respect for you, Hawke, as do most people in this city. But… well, I owe you a great debt, since you helped me avenge my family, and returned my grandfather’s bow to me.”

          “Yes, yes, I’m wonderful, but that hardly warrants a walk down from your cloister. You could have sent a note.” She waved her hand, rolling her eyes as she lifted the glass to her lips again.

          “What I’m trying to say is, Hawke, those debts will be repaid. And I think you’ll be interested in how I intend to do that.”

          “Oh really?” She flashed him a wicked smile. “I’m listening.”

          “With Varric around, you must have heard- there is talk of making you Viscountess. The people are not pleased with Meredith’s tyranny, and many think that you are better suited to run Kirkwall. You are an Amell, after all, and Champion- you have many supporters.”

          She inclined her head, frowning, as if the thought had never occurred to her before. “They’re not wrong.”

          “Say you did become Viscountess- and I reclaimed my birthright…” Hawke smiled, but let him go on. “It might be mutually beneficial to, say, unite the cities, produce an heir…”

          “Sebastian, are you suggesting that we marry?” She tossed her head back, laughing. “I’m not really the marrying kind, dear. And what of your vows?” She donned a face of feigned horror. “What would the Grand Cleric say?”

          “In order to reclaim Starkhaven, I must break my vows. The Maker would not want me to leave my kingdom without a leader. As ruler, it will be my responsibility to produce an heir-”

          “Do you know exactly what is involved in ‘producing an heir,’ Sebastian?” She rose and set her glass on the mantel, then turned to face him. “You can’t just pray and hope the Maker drops one on your doorstep, you know,” she said, her tone cruel.

          He felt his ears and cheeks flush. “I know that, Hawke. I was not always a Chantry brother. I certainly know how it’s done.”

          “Do you?” She tugged at her belt, her robe falling open. But for her smallclothes, he could see everything, her pale skin glowing orange in the firelight. “Tell me, Sebastian, what happens next?”

          He knew he should leave, or at the very least avert his eyes, but he stared, frozen as the stone carvings above the fireplace. There she was, more beautiful than he had dared let himself imagine… so close, just waiting for him to reach out to her… “Hawke, I…” At last he tore his gaze away, ashamed.

          “My sweet prince.” She took a step toward him, taking his untouched glass and downing it before tossing it into the fire. “How do you expect me to be your wife, to get me with child, if you can’t even look at me unclothed?” She smiled that pleased smile once again. “Even if you turn down all the lights, you might still catch a glimpse in the moonlight.”

          He felt himself growing angry, just as he so often did in her presence. But she was right. He had already turned his back on the Chantry, and yet he was clinging to its rules like a child to its mother’s skirts. His eyes returned to her slight frame. One hand rested on her hip, the other twirled lazily at a lock of dark hair. “Do you like what you see, Sebastian?”

          He certainly did. Maker’s breath, he wanted her. He had never wanted anything so badly in his life. And he hated her for it. Finally he managed a small, hesitant nod, biting the insides of his cheeks.

          “Sebastian,” she whispered, leaning over him, “do you want to touch me?”

          His eyes lingered over her breasts, which she had positioned directly in front of his face. They were the only part of her not marred by scars, the skin smooth and milky white and perfect. He managed another nod, and a whimper, then muttered, “Maker, yes…”

          She let out a deep, throaty chuckle. “No one is stopping you.”

          He hesitated, knowing he was dangerously close to a point of no return.

She straddled him on the oversized chair, draping her arms around his neck.

          “Hawke…” he began, not sure what his next words would be. But she kissed him then, her lips soft and wet and oh so perfect against his. His hands gripped her hips, pulling her in closer, her skin tantalizing under his fingers. He found himself rapidly losing control, forgetting why he had resisted in the first place as her mouth overtook his and her hips ground into him. He was so acutely aware of the small amount of fabric separating them… and how easy it would be to remove it.

          She tore away from his mouth, her fingers working through his dark hair as she nibbled at his ear, sending pleasant shivers down his spine. His head rolled to the side, covering her neck in kisses. She moaned, gripping his hair tighter. His hands moved up from her hips to her chest, caressing the soft flesh of her breasts. His lips continued moving over her neck, and Hawke let out a pained gasp.

          Sebastian’s eyes opened, immediately finding the source of her discomfort; a dark purple mark on the side of her neck, unmistakably caused by a bite. _Anders_ , he thought bitterly. _Maker, what am I doing? She doesn’t want me. She doesn’t even want that despicable mage._ He threw her off of him, knocking her to the ground.

          She landed rather gracefully, catching herself on her elbows, sneering up at him as if she had expected it. “Something wrong, Sebastian?”

          He bit his lip, swallowing his rage as best he could. “I fear I have made a grave mistake coming here tonight, Hawke.” He rose from the chair, offering her his hand.

          She refused it, pulling herself up from the floor and ruffling her hair. “You don’t say.” She drew her robe closed, crossing her arms over her chest.

          “Forgive me, but I would prefer we did not speak of this again.”

          She flashed him a smile full of malice. “Indeed.”

          He walked toward the door, but stopped when he reached it, looking down at his feet. “I’m sorry, Hawke.” He looked over his shoulder at her. “I’m just not that kind of man.”

          “No need for apologies, Sebastian.” She smiled, that same cruel smile she always gave him. “I know exactly what kind of man you are.”

          Maker, he loathed her. He slammed the doors behind him, her laughter ringing in his ears all the way back to the Chantry. 


End file.
